


Ripe for the Pickin'

by AidaRonan



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Creampie, Established Relationship, M/M, Quick and Dirty, Sex in the woods, bottom!daryl, but you know, okay only daryl is in the tree, rick and daryl sitting in a tree, still k-i-s-s-i-n-g, top!rick, with lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 02:44:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15451620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidaRonan/pseuds/AidaRonan
Summary: Daryl’s literally in a tree, perched on a low hanging branch trying to reach a couple ripe pawpaws. Or that’s what he was doing anyway. Now he’s just a guy in a tree with his thighs wrapped around Rick’s head...





	Ripe for the Pickin'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SorrowJunky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorrowJunky/gifts).



> Sorrowjunky commissioned some Rickyl smut. Thanks, sweets. <3

Daryl tells Rick to stop, but it’s so halfhearted that even he doesn’t believe it. Plus it comes out as a half-snort, which does nothing at all to wipe the grin off Rick's face. 

(If he really wanted him to stop, he’d safe word anyway, and they both know that.)

Daryl’s literally in a tree, perched on a low hanging branch trying to reach a couple ripe pawpaws. Or that’s what he was doing anyway. Now he’s just a guy in a tree with his thighs wrapped around Rick’s head, his cock so deep in his mouth that he could probably describe the exact texture of the back of Rick’s throat if he could even process rational thought.

"Jesus," Daryl breathes, bark digging into his palms. 

The sound Rick makes when he pulls off of him would make a retired hooker blush.

“You comin down or do I have to come up?” Rick asks, smiling at him and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“Really gonna fuck me in the middle of the woods?”

“You say that like I haven’t fucked you in the middle of several woods,” Rick says. “Like you don’t love it when I back you up against a tree and make you forget every name but mine.”

“I’m tryin to feed the group,” Daryl says, but he knows they mostly came out because they were honest-to-God bored. The group is fine—well fed on fresh beef and late summer vegetables. And the pawpaws will still be there in a few minutes after all the warm cum has dripped out of him onto the grass.

He hops down and wraps a hand around the back of Rick’s neck, smiles into the kiss when Rick’s hands squeeze his ass, kneading it greedily. Between them, his bare cock catches on worn black denim. He grunts softly.

“You plan this?” Daryl asks, lips sore, the less hairy parts of his face burning from Rick’s stubble. Rick shrugs. 

“Your thighs looked criminal on that branch, Daryl. As a former man of the law, I couldn’t stand idly by.”

“Well I hope you brought lube, _officer_.”

Rick responds by pulling a bottle out of his gun belt and giving Daryl a crooked grin.

“Should’ve made you stay up on that branch for this part,” Rick says. “Watch you open yourself up at eye level.”

“Mhm. You gonna pick the splinters out of my ass later?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Rick says. And it’s true. Sometimes things between them get so heated that neither of them think, and Daryl’s pain tolerance means he can ignore almost alarming amounts of discomfort without even noticing it’s there until he has the scratches or bruises to show for it.

He snatches the lube from Rick’s hand and stares at him under the fringe of his hair. He doesn’t need to ask. Words are something they share because they can, not because they have to.

Casually, Rick unbuttons his shirt, pulling the tails out of his jeans and sliding it off. He spreads it on the grass like a picnic blanket, and Daryl shoves his pants down and lowers himself onto his back, already popping the top on the lube. Rick kneels by his feet, and Daryl lets him unlace his boots and undo the strings around his ankles.

He’s already working a finger in and out of him by the time Rick tugs his jeans all the way off.

“Slower,” Rick says, voice deep and dark. “Just one or two real slow for me.”

Rick palms the front of his jeans while Daryl obeys, a couple of agonizingly slow push-pulls in and out of his hole. Rick watches him with hungry eyes, even while he leans against the tree and pulls off his boots that are more holes than leather. The belt comes next, dropping onto the roots by his feet. Then the jeans and his underwear, taken off together and tossed aside.

With slow patient strokes of his cock, Rick waits for Daryl to finish prepping. He doesn’t stop him until Daryl’s practically fisting himself, four fingers balled together and pushing, pushing, pushing with wet squelches that seem way too loud among soft bird calls and the occasional bee buzzing past.

Then Rick’s fist is in his hair, and he’s dragging him up to his feet, leading him around by dark brown locks. Daryl’s back slams into a tree trunk—not the pawpaw tree but an old steady oak. Rick leaves Daryl's shirt on, probably to protect his back, but he does deftly undo every single button, growling when he surges forward to bite a mark onto Daryl’s collarbone.

“Come here,” Rick says, and then he pulls Daryl’s thighs up around his waist, temporary leveraging his body against the tree so that it takes most of his weight. It’s not comfortable, Daryl’s whole body arched outward and upward, shoulder blades bearing the brunt of it. But it lets Rick reach down between them and guide himself in, and then he slots Daryl’s thighs onto his hip bones properly, digging his fingers into his ass. Daryl's back goes flush with the tree; his torso goes flush with Rick’s.

“Fuck,” Daryl hisses, eyes fluttering at the stretch of him, at the fullness of having someone seated completely inside of him.

“Yeah,” Rick says, and then he covers Daryl’s mouth with his, swallowing any sound. Together, they move Daryl’s body, Rick’s stronger than he looks—not that he looks weak by any means—and he uses his arms to move Daryl on his cock. Daryl helps by rocking his hips, using the tree behind him and Rick’s shoulders for purchase.

It’s enough. Enough to have Rick grunting out obscenities, enough to have him muttering non-stop in Daryl’s ear.

“I’m gonna cum in you,” Rick says. “Gonna fill that hole of yours until it can’t take anymore. Gonna make sure you always know you’re mine.”

“Do it, old man,” Daryl challenges, body already tipping close to the edge. His fingers dig into hard muscle and he feels the bones of Rick’s shoulders moving beneath his palms. Rick clenches his jaw, eyes boring into Daryl’s, and then he falls apart with a gruff moan that startles something nearby into a bush.

Daryl feels him twitch inside of him, feels him reach between them, and then he’s falling apart too, piece by piece and with Rick’s name dripping from his lips like liquid sin.

Rick holds him still, lets Daryl pant into his neck and then kiss at the sweaty skin there, tasting the salt of him. He plants his own kisses, on Daryl’s jaw and temple and a random spot on his forearm.

When they catch their breath, he slides out and helps Daryl plant his shaky legs on the grass. Both of them quietly watch the cum fall to the ground, watch a few straggling drops lazily follow. Then Rick dresses and gathers Daryl’s jeans for him, shaking out forest litter before handing them over.

When they're on again, Rick sinks to his knees and reties Daryl’s boots, redoes the laces around his ankles securely, squeezes both of them gently before standing up.

“Love you.” Daryl says it first that day. Sometimes it’s the other way around. But it’s always said, whether they fuck or not. The world’s a lot more peaceful than it was a few years back, but they can still die so easy and they never take it for granted. 

Rick cups his jaw and gives him a long, slow kiss.

“I love you too.”

Later, they make it back to Alexandria with a bag of fresh fruit and a matching pair of easy smiles. And if Daryl’s walking a little crooked when he deftly tosses Tara a ripe pawpaw, well, no one notices but Rick.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've never heard of them, pawpaws are a real fruit (though admittedly the trees probably don't get that big). They have terrible shelf lives so they aren't widely available in stores, but they taste like a heavenly mix of a bunch of tropical fruits and grow wild in the eastern US including Virginia.


End file.
